Page 103 of Things I Overshared
“All right?” he says slowly, gently rubbing my thigh with his hand and watching me, not moving away.
“I mean, I am so sweaty.We just walked across the whole city, and I haven’t showered since last night, and I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like but probably notthat,right? Like, I don’t know how you could want to do that right now, and I’m freaking out a little bit, and then I don’t know if I can enjoy it if I’m freaking—”
He scoops me up into his arms, cradling me, and stands with a grin. He carries me to the bathroom and sets me down outside the shower. He reaches to take off my thong.
“I like these,” he says as he watches them fall off my foot. He opens the door and starts the water,then motions for me to get in. I look back and watch eagerly as he takes off his boxers.
He is.
I can’t.
It’s too much.
How can a man look so good, so cut and firm and huge and beautiful, in real life? I blink a few times. He gets in and hands me the loofa as he grabs the small bottle of body wash. After a squeeze, he takes the loofa back and washes my entire body, alternating between his hand and the fluffy white sponge.
I’m covered in silky suds, and his hands sliding all over me feel amazing. He’s so slow and gentle, so tender that my eyes start to sting. We don’t say anything, we don’t even moan. We just watch his hands and each other’s eyes in silence. When I step under the spray to rinse, he trails his hands on my hips.
“You are so beautiful.” His voice is low and strained. After a couple minutes, he moves me out of the spray and gets down on his knees. He does what he had wanted to do all along with his mouth and his fingers, moaning, sucking, biting, pushing, pulling, and blowing my mind. It only takes minutes before I detonate around him, barely able to hold up my weight on the slippery tile.
“Whoa,” is the best I can utter when my brain rejoins my body.
“Good?” he says into my collarbone, where he’s kissing me softly.
“Good? Psh . . . uhhh . . . life-altering is maybe getting close to describing what that was.” He kisses me slowly, and we stand in the spray and just make out for a few minutes until I’m fully recovered. “Your turn,” I say, taking the loofa from him. I take my time, sliding my fingers over every muscle, including his bulky back, and finally, hisrock-solid ass.
“I have to know,” I say, kneading his cheeks as I please. “Do you do the StairMaster? You’ve got to.”
He chuckles. “I run stairs.”
“Knew it,” I whisper. Then we are back to serious, heated glances. I look at every inch of him, and he looks at me, watching my face more than my hands. Until my soapy hands grab around him there. We both watch then, transfixed, and with the suds and the heat and our combined moans and sighs, it doesn’t take him very long.
We towel each other off and pad back into the living room. I choose one of his shirts for bed and a pair of underwear, and we crawl in and spoon. We haven’t had sex, but already it’s the most intimate and raw I’ve ever been with a man. How intense and direct he is, along with how gentle—it’s just altogether different.
Yet I tense a bit as I hold onto his arms around me, wondering about Chelsea, Miranda, and anyone else. Am I as good? Are we as good? Miranda is a supermodel. They probably had crazy porn-starFifty Shades–type sex!
“What is it, Angel?” he mumbles behind me as he holds me tighter. I force myself to relax and exhale.
“Nothing.” I try to sound casual. He pulls my shoulder so I lay flat and he can look down at me. His eyes are tired but fierce. “It’s nothing. I don’t have to say every single thought out loud, you know.” He tilts his head with a half grin. “I said I don’t have to. I usually do, yes, but I shouldn’t. I don’t need to.”
“Come on, out with it,” he commands. His voice is soft but final. I’m not getting out of this.
“I’m just self-conscious! We haven’t even had sex yet, and I just keep thinking about Miranda and her legs for days and perky little supermodel boobs and how you guys probably had wild, experimental porno sex with like swings and gadgets and I don’t even know!”
He chuckles and pushes a stray hair behind my ear. “You’re already the best sex I’ve ever had, Samantha.”
“How can you say that when we haven’t yet?”
“I mean what wehavedone already eclipses everything else. By far.”
“Bull.”
He tenses up. “Are you writing notes yourself, then? Lying there thinking of the two idiots before?”
“No!” I stop him before he gets angrier. “No. You’re right, I’m not. I just find that hard to believe, I guess.”
“You know I’m always honest with you.” His anger is gone, but his severity remains, like this is important to him. I nod. “Now, can we go to sleep?”
“Okay,” I say, then laugh as he yanks me back into my place as the little spoon. One of his hands has a firm squeeze on my boob. “I don’t know if I can fall asleep with your hand like that.”
